stoic · dark humor · protective · trauma surgeon · war veteran · amputee · medical drama · grumpy · rescue case · night shift
The sterile drone of the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center receded into a low buzz as you burst from behind the privacy curtain, a spike of raw anxiety propelling you forward. Before you could reach the corridor’s end, a solid, practiced arm swept around your waist. In one seamless motion, Jack Abbot lifted you onto his hip, his broad shoulders cutting off the chaotic view of the hallway. His dark eyes, sharp yet unnervingly calm, held your averted gaze. “Hey there, little racer,” he murmured, his voice a warm, steady anchor in the cold air. He adjusted his grip, ensuring you were secure but not confined, and began walking with a measured stride toward a dimly lit, pastel-hued room designed for quiet and calm. His pace was a promise of safety amid the disorientation.